JON SURGAL
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thing, but Cynthia ends up in this one room with this other guy and I end
up in this room with The Pincher."
Heimlich's wife shot Mick a look that said
oh really?
"Listen,"
Adriana insisted. "So all's this guy wanted to do was fuck.
And all's I wanted to do was I wanted to sleep. I mean I really hated this
guy, you know? He smelled like a you know like a barber shop. So what I
did finally was I let him fuck me."
"Well sure," Heimlich's wife said. "That sounds logical."
"See the thing is I was having my period." Adriana's eyes were open
wide and reflecting the light from the ceiling fixture. "So when he gets
finished there's blood allover the sheets and I stick my head in the pillow
and make out like I'm crying and he asks me real impatient like what I'm
crying about and I tell him I'm a virgin and my father's gonna kill me."
She hunched up her shoulders again and let out a laugh that had no sound
to it. "This guy took one look at the blood and went
out
of his tiny
mind,"
she said. "You never seen anybody so guilty. He started apologizing about
twelve thousand times and he sits on the edge of the bed with his head in
his hands like this and he starts talking to himself in Italian and apologiz–
ing all over the place and hitting himself on the head and asking me to
marry
him and everything-it was great."
She reached behind her for Mick's hand and drew it around her waist.
"So the next day," she said, "they bought us this big breakfast and
drove us all the way to Rome."
Heimlich's wife glanced past her at Mick, but this time he would not
look at her.
"Well," said Heimlich's wife, "if you'll excuse me I have to go stran–
gle another chicken for my guests."
She smiled and started to move away through the grudging press of
people. Adriana leaned back against Mick and put her wet lips up to his
ear.
"Dance wi th her," she said.
"I already danced with her."
"Dance with her again," Adriana told him. "Make her hot and then
come back here to me."
Mick felt trapped. It was not the suggestion that bothered him, it was
his own temptation. His body too was betraying him. The bad blood had
broken down the immunity and it was swelling up in his groin.
But no,
he
told himself. The immunity was still intact. This was no symptom, it was
a hard-on was what it was and it did not bear thinking about.
"Con1e on," he said, "cut it out."
Adriana pulled away from him, and he knew he had said the wrong
thing. There was no right thing, though, not any more. There was nothing
